


After

by micehell



Category: Friday Night Lights
Genre: AU (Jericho fusion), Angst, Drama, Implied violence (could be read as non-con), M/M, Major characters missing (presumed dead), major characters not behaving well
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-04-06
Updated: 2008-04-06
Packaged: 2017-11-12 02:39:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/485755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/micehell/pseuds/micehell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everyone was on the team here, and no one was left behind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	After

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: So I got pimped into FNL and _Jericho_ at right about the same time, and this is what happens to my brain when something like that happens. It's set in the _Jericho_ universe, though only FNL characters are involved. Basically, it's a world where 23 nuclear bombs have been exploded across the US, with Dallas being one of the cities hit. The government is in shambles, struggling to reform, forget help the people in more remote areas, so most of the towns are on their own. And the people are behaving as they always do in such situations, with that strange mix of heroism and pettiness that only humans are capable of. ;) Some of the FNL characters are missing, presumed dead (look at the pairing for a hint of at least one of those characters... there's no way that pairing happens in canon *snork*). Some of them didn't handle the change with the best of graces. Any character I have listed in the tags, though, is 'safe' on both counts.

Matt didn't hang around when they came back from the scouting trip. It had been over with Julie long before the bombs, but he had never been comfortable around Coach since then, and usually took instruction from Tim in Coach's stead. If it weren't for Landry and Tyra keeping an eye on him, Tim would have been more worried about Matt's withdrawal, but he figured those two wouldn't let anything get too wrong.

Of course Tim also halfway suspected that Matt was sometimes the creamy filling in the Landry/Tyra cookie, but he kept that to himself, just in case it was true. He might like to give them a bit of a hard time, but he wasn't going to let anyone else do it.

Eric was waiting for him when he got in the house. He studied Tim closely, trying to pretend he wasn't. Tim gave him a small smile, happy enough with the concern, but still feeling a little guilty over what had started it. "I'm fine. Nothing happened."

That got him a nod, but it wasn't a fully believing one yet. "I heard there was some problems over in Laribee."

Tim wondered where that news had come from. Laribee was on his and Matt's route, and he knew Matt sure as hell hadn't said anything to Coach. "Yeah, there was some trouble. The Dick got himself shot after all that noise he was making. Guess I wasn't the only one that he'd pissed off."

"It's Dickies, and you know it."

"Yeah, well he'll always be the Dick to me. Mayor over in Laribee wanted to talk to me about it. Thought I'd been the one to take him down. I didn't, just in case you were wondering."

Eric gave him the exasperated look Tim remembered so well, from back when he'd just been Coach and nothing else. He didn't roll his eyes, but you could hear it in the tone of his voice when he said, "Tim, I know it wasn't you."

Tim grinned. "I have an alibi, anyway. Since at the time he was being killed, I was here, your dick halfway down my throat."

The flush that fanned across Eric's face was mostly embarrassment, but not entirely. He was still something of a prude, even in the face of everything that had happened, still clinging to the mores of the life he'd known. But that was one of the reasons Tim followed him. There was still a chance that the life they'd known wasn't lost forever, or at least not completely. And if things did start to calm down, and the government did get their act together and get things back under control, Tim didn't want Eric to have gone so far he couldn't find his way back.

Of course, he didn't want to get left behind, either. He wished he could tell Eric how much it meant to him that he'd just known that Tim hadn't killed the Dick, even without the alibi. That it wasn't just a matter of wanting to think good of one of his 'players' even, but rather that he trusted Tim. But if he tried to say something like that, it'd just get jumbled on his tongue, and probably embarrass the man more. It wasn't like they never talked about it, but things were still too new, both of them still fighting their own versions of guilt, to be easy with it yet.

"I'm guessing that there were some folks in Laribee that didn't want the trouble between us to start up again, and ex-Coach Dick was stirring shit like an old pro. He'd had some followers, too, and not just some of his old players. He'd…" Tim trailed off, not wanting to mention the next part to Eric, not after what had happened with Guy, but he knew if word got back, and Tim hadn't told him, Eric was going to be pissed. "He and a couple of his guys had tried to get in it with me on our last trip through. Nothing too bad, and Matt came up before it got out of hand, but people had noticed, of course, which is why the mayor talked to me. Didn't talk to me for long, though, 'cause the Dick had apparently been talking 'resources' lately and mentioning Dillon a lot. Hadn't won him any friends, not after the mess back right After."

Eric's lips went thin with the mention of the sort-of fight, but he just looked tired by the time Tim finished. He rubbed a hand across his jaw, shaking his head. "You should have told me then, Tim. You need to tell me, 'cause I can't… I just can't, not again."

That hurt. He knew he'd fucked up last time, trying to keep it hidden, but he hadn't wanted even more eyes on him. Hadn't wanted what people would say. That they should have guessed with trash like him. That he'd been asking for it. That they couldn't understand what Coach saw in him. Not that they didn't say that last one, anyway, but at least they didn't say it loudly anymore. Not in Eric's hearing anyway.

But he also never wanted to see Eric look like he had then, either, when the infection had gotten out of control, and there were days that all Tim could remember of them was Eric's face leaning over him, growing more haggard as each day passed, and the broken prayer's to a God Eric didn't fully believe in anymore as he wiped a wet cloth over Tim's face, trying to keep the fever down, to keep him alive.

It was still light out, and he didn't know who else might be in the house, but this wasn't about Coach talking to one of his scouts, reminding him that he needed all the information they came across, not just what they thought was important. So Tim took his hand, twining their fingers together, and reminded him, "I'm still here. And nothing happened with the Dick, not even a bruise. His surprise tackle back at that last game did more damage than anything he or his guys did. I promised… I promised I wouldn’t keep secrets anymore, and I'm sorry, but I swear I just forgot. It was right after that that me and Matt came on those bodies up by the Creek, and it just went out of my head."

Eric squeezed their hands together tightly, almost painfully, but then he sighed, letting some of the tension out. "Okay. Okay. And it's good we don't have to worry about Laribee anytime soon. But you shouldn't hold too much against Dickies, Tim. I know he treated you like shit, but he had… well, there were reasons, if not excuses. And you've seen what grief and need can do to people, even good ones."

He didn't mention Jay by name, or Lyla, but Tim nodded. He couldn't even hold the friction between Coach's group and Jason's entirely against Jay. He was just doing what he thought was necessary, even if the old Jay -- even the old Jay after the accident --wouldn't have agreed.

Eric let go of Tim, scrubbing both of his hands over his face, like he could wipe away the pain and loss that had settled there. "Dickies' wife, when he'd interfered in that game… she'd only had a couple of months to live then. She's probably dead by now. That kind of loss…"

And what was there to say to that. They'd all suffered loss since the bombs, since After, but Eric's had been a lot. Had been everything, really. And yet he hadn't become like Jay, so determined to protect those he considered his that he was willing cross boundaries he never would have before. He hadn't become like the Dick, mean and petty, and willing to steal from others just to make things easier for himself. Instead he'd just been Coach, determined to help his guys, help his community, and yet unwilling to stop helping those in need just because it would make things easier. Everyone was on the team here, and no one was left behind.

Clear eyes. Full heart. Can't lose.

But just because Eric had held on to who he had been in the wake of disaster, it didn't mean it was easy. The bags under his eyes were even more pronounced now, and while all of them looked tired, you could see how much the responsibility weighed on the man.

He sagged now, almost throwing himself on the couch, head titled back and eyes closed. Tim had never been much of one for talking under the best of circumstances, but he wished he were better at it now. Wished he could find the magic words that would make it easier for Eric. Instead all he could do was sit by the man, and give him time.

Tim couldn't see any tears, but he thought Eric might be crying anyway, his voice harsh with them when he finally said, voice a breaking whisper. "I want them back. I just want them back."

It wasn't like Tim didn't understand. He still missed Lyla, and he at least knew where she was. Knew she was alive, even if she was showing her loyalty to Jay by not speaking to him anymore. But it still hurt, how intense that desire for something that wasn't _him_ was. Because if the guilt that sometimes ate at Eric was that he'd found someone else that wasn't Tami, the guilt that devoured Tim was that he was glad that Eric had.

He'd never have wished Tami harm, never have even thought that Eric would be interested if she were gone. Not before the bombs, anyway. Because Eric had been only Coach then, a somewhat reluctant surrogate father figure who was usually more irritated with Tim than he was friendly with him. And he'd been far too honorable a man to have ever looked at one of his students, even if he hadn't been so obviously in love with his wife.

But After… well then he'd been Coach, too, reluctant leader, but he'd also been Eric, a man nearly broken by the grief of his wife and daughters in Dallas, visiting her sister, on _that_ day of all others. And Tim had been alone, Billy in Austin, maybe alive, but maybe not, and it might as well have been on another planet with how dangerous the roads were.

Even with that, nothing probably would have happened between them, not the way they had been. But Tim had oddly thrived in the After, going from someone who'd only ever achieved acceptance based on his tackle and his face, to someone who could get the job done. Whose knowledge of the surrounding countryside came in handy, whose mechanical skills and physical adeptness made him valuable. And while he was never going to be a scholar, once he'd been thrust into a world where there were no free rides or rally girls, he'd adapted, a native cunning learned on the playing field making him helpful to the town. And to Eric.

Tim had figured out he liked Coach more than he should long before anything happened. He'd even suspected that Eric wasn't completely immune to him, either, but he'd been content to leave it alone, happy enough with the friendship that adversity had forged. Just like it had with Lyla, it took special circumstances before he was willing to risk what he already had to act on his attraction.

It had happened months ago now, when Tyra and Landry, cleaning out one of the abandoned warehouses downtown for another shelter, had found a case of gin. Since alcohol had been one of the first supplies to go, it had been quite a find, even if it had tasted more like paint thinner than alcohol. They'd all had some that night, an impromptu party that had laughter and homemade music spilling out into a town that had had too little of the first for far too long. It had made all of them feel better, an example of what they were fighting for.

Except for Eric, who'd drank his share down like it was water, doing a stellar imitation of Tim's father and making Tim more than a little worried. He'd found him later, sick and teary, in the alley out in back. It had been Tami's name on his lips, but it had been Tim he'd held, drunk and desperate to feel anything besides grief.

Tim had been fully sober, even months of being on the wagon not having touched his tolerance much, and he could so easily have stopped it. Could have led Coach back to the warehouse with all the others, spread that grief out over a group that was willing to do pretty much anything for their leader. But he didn't, forgetting the Coach and kissing Eric instead, wanting, needing, to calm that grief, even if only for the moment.

If he'd imagined them having a first time, it wouldn't have been a dirty alley, Tim pushing Eric back into the wall behind him, jacking him off in long, slow strokes, using sensation to help him push back the memories. Eric deserved better than that. But it had always been a tactic that had served Tim well, a way to forget exactly how much his life tended to suck, and he'd never regretted it before. And he didn't then, not when Eric had been so relaxed afterwards, leaning contentedly against Tim as he led him home.

There'd been drunken affection in Eric's voice as he'd put him to bed, but Tim had been pretty sure that would change come morning. Hangovers and damaged friendships were the consequences you paid when you'd lived like he did. He was only thankful that Eric was too far gone to remember another evening when he'd put a drunken Taylor to bed, and had to close his own thoughts against the memory, falling in the bed beside him, taking that last moment of closeness for himself.

But there hadn't been any withdrawal the next day, just a soft, if slightly embarrassed kiss good morning, and an even more fervent one when Tim managed to scrounge up some aspirin for him. Then it had been back to business as usual, except for the shy invitation to come over that night.

It wasn't like Tim didn't know, though, that it wasn't true love. Not for Eric. He'd heard her name whispered in sleep too many times to fool himself. But he'd known that when he went into it, eyes wide open, and if there was one lesson that his life had taught to him, drummed into him long before the bombs, it was that you could never expect love to be returned.

And he didn't expect it. But it didn't mean that he didn't want it. It didn't mean that it didn't hurt like hell that he was always going to be second choice. But it also didn't mean that he wasn't sincere when he told Eric, "I wish you could have them back, too."

It sounded stupid when he said it out loud, like he was wishing that he was free of Eric when he could scream from wanting to hold on, but Eric was used to translating him now, and he understood what Tim was saying. More than Tim had meant for him to, if the fierce hug was anything to go by.

"Don't. Don't. I don't know what I'd do if they came back now. I don't. I love her, you know that. I never said I didn't. And, hell, I shouldn't have ever… it should never have happened, what did. It was a violation of authority, of trust."

"It wasn't. I made my decision. I'm not a child."

Eric's smile was grim, half-amusement, half-disgust. "You're right. You're not. Not anymore. And that hurts, too. You should have had years yet. To make the most of being young and strong. And pretty."

It was an old argument, which Tim was apparently never going to win. "I'm not pretty."

"Oh, yes you are." Eric brushed his finger across Tim's lips, smiling for real this time. "I always did have good taste." The sorrow was still there, always right below the surface. But it was in all of them now, and Eric was more thoughtful than sad when he said, "If she came back now… the world has changed. If she's alive -- and I hope like hell she is, that they all are -- she'll have changed, too. We'll make it work. Whatever I have to do, I'll make it work. I'm not leaving you alone."

As a promise, it wasn't one of his best. Eric was good, and even in a world where a man's word had less meaning than it ever had, he abided by his, but he couldn't know what would happen. Not for sure, not when he might be faced by people who needed him more than Eric needed Tim. But the promise pleased Tim anyway, an offset to the guilt they would always bear between them. And maybe he didn't have to think of himself so much a second round pick, but more as a first round pick in a new season.

Whatever it was between them, he'd take it. Like he'd take being led to bed, soft after days of sleeping on the ground, clothes stripped off him by eager fingers, warm hands. Like he'd take the teasing about being pretty, and the quick burst of fear and pain that came with penetration, and the way it mutated to safety and pleasure, and feeling like he was home and welcome.

And if Tami and the girls ever did show back up, he'd take that as well. Because there were always consequences to living the way Tim did, but it was the only way he knew.

/story


End file.
